


Victorious

by Kyirah



Series: Rose Gold Champagne [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Baby Noctis Lucis Caelum, Character Death Fix, Daemon!Prompto, Fix-It, Gen, Ghost Uncle Ardyn, Kid Fic, Noctis is the Chosen One, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parent Cor Leonis, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:15:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 19,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21681499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyirah/pseuds/Kyirah
Summary: Noctis is the King of Light, and at the cost of his own life he purged the Starscourge from Eos. Luckily for him, the God's seem to like him a great amount, and so he gets a new chance at life.--In which baby Noctis is loved by literally everyone, Regis is more stressed then what is probably healthy and the ghosts of the former kings like to give life adivice.
Relationships: Ardyn Izunia & Noctis Lucis Caelum, Clarus Amicitia & Cor Leonis & Regis Lucis Caelum, Gladiolus Amicitia & Prompto Argentum & Noctis Lucis Caelum & Ignis Scientia, Noctis Lucis Caelum & Regis Lucis Caelum
Series: Rose Gold Champagne [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1615816
Comments: 225
Kudos: 593





	1. Ⅰ

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! This idea came to me after I was looking for some Noctis&Regis bonding and didn't find much, so I decided to write it.  
I have no idea where this is going, so if anyone has any scenes they'd like to see, feel free to request them at the comments or my tumblr, https://96kyirah.tumblr.com/ .

Clarus had never, never once in his life, felt so useless.

He is an Amicitia_, _ he is the King's Shield, head of the Crownsguard, right hand to Regis Lucis Caelum, formidable warrior and feared war hero.

But he also is _ Reggie's brother, _ and seeing his closest friend is such a state of agony renders him useless in a way he hoped he'd never have to experience.

Because this, this desperation in Regis' eyes, this dark, looming cloud of darkness that hangs around the palace, _ this _he cannot face with a sword and a brave face.

Because he isn't a healer, is in no way knowledgeable enough to even _begin _to try and fix this disaster.

If it was the Starscourge, he could petition Tenebrae for little Lunafreya's presence: the girl is barely five, but she already shows promise as future Oracle. If it was a Daemon-inflicted infection, he could hunt the beast down and find an antidote.

But none of these things are happening, and Clarus never thought he'd ever _wish _for a Daemon attack as much as he is right now.

Because Queen Aulea is sick with no apparent cause, her fever high enough to render her unconscious for weeks now, and no one in the whole kingdom has any idea how to help their Queen.

_ (Regis _ has no idea what to do, has spent hours at the end of her bedside, barely sleeping or eating outside his duties and his watch over his beloved.)

If it was just that, though, Clarus thinks his dear friend should be okay, give or take a few deserved years to mourn. Aulea is his love, his heart, his equal. They ruled beautifully together, and completed one another like perfect cogs on a clockwork.

But, just two days ago, the young prince, no older than _ six months_, started showing the same signs of his mother's fever, so much worse in his small body, and Clarus doesn't think his friend will survive the loss of both his wife and child at the same time.)

And so Clarus watches as Reggie bows by his wife's bed, knees on the ground and hands clasped around her's, and _prays_, and is able to do absolutely _nothing _about it except stand tall at the door, ready to be the rock his king will need and the shoulder his friend won't ask for.

* * *

Unseen by the despairing King and Shield, on the corner of the room, where the young prince's crib rests, a white figure appears, a fine cover of ice spreading on the ground and encompassing the babe's sleeping form.

Shiva reaches down, kisses the infant's forehead delicately, her eyes bright red with a message from the gods.

_ Most Beloved, _ they whisper, _ King of Kings, Kings of Light_, they say, _ you've walked tall, _ they chant, _ it is time to rest_, they promise.

And so, on that day, two souls leave Eos, gently carried by the gods, but only one body returns to the earth.

* * *

And, out of the castle, far away from the God's Beloved, a man steps out of the shadows, long hair untouched by the wind, no trace of his existence touching any part of the room.

He looks around, cautiously registers his surroundings, and smiles.

"It seems like it is time for payback, my little nephew." He murmurs, a red glint of a weapon the only sight before he exits the room.


	2. Ⅱ

Noctis Lucis Caelum is, according to all the doctors, nurses and babysitters, a healthy young boy. He’s the right weight and height, reacts to light and movement the way babies should react, hits all of the milestones a baby should in the expected timeframe, if a bit on the early side.

There’s no lasting damage from the fever that took him and the late Queen. Noctis just a normal, healthy baby.

But Regis is smart, and pays more attention then what should be healthy to his son, and he _sees_.

Noctis spends hours on end playing by himself, staring at nothing and babbling to the empty air. He sees things where there are none, knows when people are coming for him and seems to remember far more things then he should be able to.

On the day his child starts walking, wobbling and leaning on things, not in the way normal toddlers do, but the way Regis leans on ways when his knee is acting up, the King takes his child to the old temple buried beneath the castle and _prays_.

(Small, young Noctis is asleep, curled on his father’s chest and breath even. Regis kneels by the altar, places his treasured bundle on the stone steps, and bows low. On his finger, the Ring of Lucii shines, and voices flood his head.

_ He is King of Light _and _the god’s Chosen One _and _beloved by the Six _and _walk tall, little King. _

Regis isn’t sure what this is, what it all means, but he brings his son closer to him and weeps, for being beloved by the gods also means being owned by the gods, and Regis knows nothing good can come out of it.)

* * *

Noctis grows up to be the kindest soul Cor has ever witnessed, and he’s seen plenty of people kind people in his life. The Young Prince is empathetic and gentle beyond his age, his tantrums never going on for long or damaging anyone’s propriety.

Cor, Clarus, and Regis often joked Noctis had inherited all of the gentlenesses neither parent had in abundance, for all that Regis was a wise King and Aulea a good Queen, neither was known for being kind: growing up in the middle of the war against the empire had made sure of that.

Cor would like nothing else for the Prince, and if he had to storm through the Empire by himself to make sure of that, well, it’s not like either of his friends can stop him.

He is debating exactly that - well, debating war plans against the empire, not storming it by himself - when the Young Prince barrels through the door, a harried servant’s hand on his.

“Daddy! Help!” He screeches, letting go of the woman’s hand to throw himself at his father’s lap.

And, no matter how often it happens, Cor doesn’t think he will ever get used to Reggie easily lifting the child and sitting Noctis on his lap, his eyes bright in a smile, like there’s no other place he’d rather be. The way he turns his full attention to his son, all thoughts of work forgotten in favor of him.

(Because Regis refuses to be like Mors, refuses to let Noctis grown up thinking of himself as a burden and nothing but an heir, asked several times for both Clarus and Cor to keep his workaholic nature in check, demanded to both that Noctis must come first.)

By the window, Clarus snorts, hiding his mirth behind his hand. Cor raises one eyebrow at the servant, since Noctis seems perfectly fine and unharmed, which means the Prince must want help for something else.

The servant shakes her head, obviously wanting to be anywhere but here, and tugs her sleeves down over her hands.

“Oh, yes? And what is it that might require my assistance?” Regis asks his boy, and it’ll never stop amusing Cor how _formal _he is, no matter how much he says it’s good for the child’s development.

Noctis points at the servant, his eyes beginning to mist over with unshed tears, and opens his mouth, “Miss Sylla hurt! Do magic the thing, make it go 'way!”

And, well, Cor has to congratulate Regis on his non-response, the barest second of surprise on his face before he looks over at the servant, who looks like she’d rather be swallowed underground at the same time her eyes widen in surprise.

Because it’s been years since Regis used to Crystal to heal, ever since Queen Aulea’s death, and few outside the King’s inner circle know about the power. Noctis would have no way of knowing that.

“Is it true, Miss Sylla?” The King asks, a forced serene mask over his face. The servant hurriedly nods, before warily pulling her sleeve back to show purple finger indents circling her wrist, much bigger than her own.

“I’m sorry, your Majesty, I told the Young Prince it was fine, but he started saying something about magic and well...” She trails off, flushing a deep red and bowing.

Cor can feel his vision tunneling, the dark edges creeping in. Because that's a man's hand, branded on a royal servant chosen by Aulea like all of Noctis' babysitters. That means a man living in the Citadel that's capable of raising his hand to a servant, because all of Noctis' babysitters live full time on the Royal City, and rarely if ever venture out into Insomnia proper, where an accident is actually possible.

Regis clears his throat, running one hand through the Young Prince's hair. He trades a quick glance with Clarus, too quick even for Cor to understand what is said, and smiles serenely at his son.

"Noct, we've talked about magic, haven't we? What did I say?" He questions, patiently gazing down at his son. Prince Noctis sniffles, presses one tiny hand to his watering eyes, and tilts his head curiously at his father.

"... Magic jus' em- eme- gency?" He tries, sounding the word carefully, furrowing his eyebrows in the most adorable manner, and if Cor wasn't aware of this already, he'd be surprised by Noctis' memory.

Because the King had made a light show with magic for the Young Prince on his first birthday, had lectured his too-young son on how magic was for _emergencies only_. At the time, Noctis had babbled and giggled at the lights, not actually paying attention to such hard words.

_ He should not remember that_, Cor thinks to himself, dread settling on his stomach.

The King, however, merely nods, absentmindedly correcting the Pince's pronunciation and smiles condescendingly at the servant, as if to say, _kids, am I right? _ The servant smiles, understanding, and the King turns to Clarus.

"Clarus, why don't you take Miss Sylla to the infirmary to get that looked at?" Clarus, knowing it is actually an order to investigate just what happened, nods and escorts the servant out of the run, the door closing behind him just in time for the King to turn a puzzled look down at his son.

"Son, who told you of this... _ healing magic_?" He asks, softly combing Noctis hair in a casual show of affection and reassurance. On his lap, the Prince squirms, then shrugs.

"The blue people." He says, eventually, one hand vaguely gesturing to an empty corner of the room.

Cor knows this isn't new, knows the Prince talks to his imaginary friends more than any child his age should, knows things he absolutely shouldn't know.

Regis knows it too, and simply sighs. His son is _ King of Light_, chosen by the gods, and as much as Regis would like to know just what goes through his son's mind, he is still too young to explain it.

"Well, that was a very kind thing you did, my son. I, too, would hate to see one of my servant's hurt." The King says, lifting Noctis up to get a giggle and a smile, his fidgeting calming down in the face of his Father's approval. "Why don't we go to the gardens, and find some flowers for a get-well-soon bouquet?"

Cor sighs, then, exasperated, because they had _plans _to discuss, but he can never deny anything to either Regis or Cor when they smile like that, damn Lucis' genes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I should post short chapters like that once a week or longer chapters once a month. Do tell me what y'all would prefer!


	3. Ⅲ

Clarus is recognized on sight as the King's shield, feared defender of the throne and battle master in the war fields. He is used to being feared, being _respected_, and often thinks that the power of it suits him well. He prides himself on being an honorable warrior, someone worthy of being the King's right-hand man.

But he'll also never get tired of this, of getting home and being practically tackled down by his son, a gleeful shout of _daddy!_, no hesitation to show just how much his child missed him.

"Now, there's my little monster!" He exclaims, overly dramatic and loud, everything and anything to see Gladiolus giggle and hug him tighter.

Clarus fakes being wounded, plays around with his child on the floor, not caring one bit about his oh-so-important reputation.

By the entryway to the living room, Ariana sighs, endeared and exasperated in equal measure. Clarus grins up at his wife, hefts Gladiolus up like a sack of potatoes, and stomps over - to his toddler's delight - to kiss her forehead.

"I'm home, dear wife." He whispers a joke between the two of them, a personal tale that's kept just between them both.

"Welcome home, dear husband." She demurs, laughter in her eyes, just like all the other times Clarus manages to leave Regis' side long enough to come home.

Between them, on Clarus' arms, Gladiolus hums happily and tugs at his father's shirt, babbling non-stop about what he wants to show and tell him, what he did in the week Clarus has been away.

Clarus obliges, offers one elbow to his wife, one hand to his son, and lets them guide him further into the house.

(Because, when his own father arranged Clarus' marriage with a noble from Accordo, Clarus never expected to _like _them. He expected a marriage of convenience and a policy of tolerance and almost-avoidance, like his parents' marriage was.

But Ari refused to, insisted on getting to know her future husband, was hell-bent on accompanying Clarus to his training as Shield. She took Clarus' hand in a dark corner of her manor, while the adults talked over alliances and politics, and they made a promise.

_ If we're to be wed_, she'd said, _ we do it together or not at all_.

And he was enamored, and so they did. He taught her how to fight by the light of sundown, and she taught him all the frilly stuff she was taught in behavior classes by the first hours of dawn.

They never fell in love, in the end. She sees no appeal to the whole thing, prefers her romances and endless hours camping under starlight. He himself, well, it suffices to say that it is not at her bed he rests when they visit Altissa.

But they both love Gladiolus, cherish him with unnamed passion, and would start wars for their little boy.

They both regret his future, for the line of Amicitia is a line of fighters, and the life of a shield is not an easy one.

But they love him, and love each other in a way most people don't understand, and refuse to let his life be commandeered by his duty like Clarus' was.

Gladiolus will have his own life outside Prince Noctis, even if it kills them both.)

* * *

"Do I have to?" His son asks, too mature to whine in public but clearly still not pleased. Clarus sighs.

"You know you have to." He says, because they can't delay it any longer. Prince Noctis is four already, knows far more than what he should, speaks in sentences no child should be able to put together, and Regis is at his wit's end on what to do to keep his child away from trouble.

Because, for some reason, Drautus was found dead in the Citadel's corridor when Prince Noctis wandered into his father's office, said _the bad man's that snoops around is blocking the way to the gardens, daddy, take him out! _

Clarus and Regis both almost had a conniption, when they discovered just who was in their midst.

(Nevermind poor Cor, who saw Glauca's armor and had a fit, took his pack and disappeared into the wilderness and still hasn't come back. _ He's okay_, Cid called, _ gonna keep him busy, don't worry yer pretty lil' heads! _)

"But I don't _wanna,_" Gladio says, and Clarus chokes down the urge to call Ari and have her deal with this. He tugs his son to a stop, kneels by his side when Gladio turns curiously to him.

"Gladiolus Amicitia." He says, and by the way Gladio straights his posture, he knows this means serious business. "You are the son of the King's Shield and one of the most accomplished diplomats Insomnia has. Your mother and I both have our duties to the Crown, and so do you." He raises one hand to indicate he's not done speaking, and Gladio closes his mouth. "You're nine years old already, and that's already old enough. You will be the Young Prince's shield, liking it or not, because that's your duty as an Amicitia."

Clarus looks at his child, pays attention to how Gladio fidgets and keeps his eyes trained on the ground, and sighs again.

"Gladio." He says, gentle, one hand running through his child's wild hair. "I know you don't like it. I am sorry for it, as is your mother, but this is a duty we can't help you with. Prince Noctis needs more than a bodyguard, he needs a _ Shield_. And I know you'll be the best one Insomnia has ever seen." Gladio peers up at that, his eyes determined. He nods, and Clarus takes that as the acceptance of a challenge he didn't quite intend for the conversation to be.

He gets up, takes Gladio's hand in his again, and starts walking. A minute or so passes in silence, the corridos of the citadel long and endless, before Gladio speaks up.

"Is the Prince nice?"

And Clarus has to laugh, because that's curiosity and determination on his son's eyes, Ari and Clarus in Gladio's tone, and he's reassured that everything will surely be alright.

* * *

Gladio isn't quite sure of what will happen, but he's sure as hell that he's going to _hate _it. He's _nine _already, that's almost two digits, he's practically a grown-up!

Sure, he told his mom he can help with chores around the house, and that he's _ready, he swears_, to take up actual training, like all the Crownsguard his dad trains. He insisted he could do more stuff, because dad and mom are always busy and he can help too!

But he _definitely _didn't mean _this_.

At the moment, his dad is showing him around the Citadel - which is cool! - because he'll apparently spend a lot of time here, now, but still. He'll be the Prince's _babysitter_.

"Shield." His dad corrects him, outside the door to the royal wing, fixing his hair. "You'll be his Shield, Gladio. The Prince is still young, so there's not much shielding to do at the moment, but you're to be his _ Shield _."

And Gladio knows this is important. He grew up on tales of a Shield's glory, of Gilgamesh's legacy, of his dad's adventures with the King.

Logically, he knows he needs to meet and befriend the Prince while he's a baby. His dad met King Regis when the king was _two_. But he's still not entirely sold that looking after the Young Prince will equal the epic tales he dreams of, somewhere down the line.

"C'mon. Let's go." His dad says, opening the doors and walking in. He looks around to see the place better, like he was taught to do, and watches as a servant scurries to close the door. In front of him, a large living room takes place: open, with plenty space for running around, large comfy couches to one side in a U shape, facing a large TV set atop a fireplace.

A man, seated at one couch, rises as they enter, turning to greet his dad. King Regis looks exactly like he did the few times Gladio saw him, if dressed more comfortably.

He greets King Regis like he was taught to, bowing formally and barely fidgets.

"Gladiolus, it is nice to finally meet you." He says, extending one hand for Gladio. He shakes it, trying to imitate what the grown-ups do, and stands with his back straight.

"It's an honor, your Majesty." Gladio answers, his voice quiet. He's never met someone higher ranking than his Dad, and he knows he's not doing anything wrong, but suddenly thinking about looking after the Prince as a bother is very, very shameful to his mind.

King Regis smiles down at him, a kind twist to his lips, and looks back at the couch, where the Young Prince is looking curiously at them.

"Gladiolus, I'd like to introduce you to my son, Noctis." The King says, gesturing the kid over, and Gladio quickly looks up at his dad while Noctis trots over.

Clarus smiles down at him, a secretive reassurance on the shine of his eyes, and Gladio relaxes a little.

Noctis stops before him, smaller than what Gladio imagined, and tilts his head up to peer at Gladio.

_ You're and Amicitia! Amicitia are brave and honorable! Act like it! _ He screams to himself, and awkwardly waves at the Prince, a faint "hi" leaving his lips, and he wants to _die_.

But Noctis doesn't run away, or ignores him, or does any of the terrible things Gladio's brain just supplied as nightmare fuel. No, he brightens, his smile purer than fresh snow, angelic in ways that did things to Gladio's heart, and grabbed his hand.

"Let's go play Crownsguard versus Kingsglaive! Do you like swords, or daggers?" And Gladio doesn't have time to answer before the Prince drags him towards a door, into his playroom, and starts talking about how he prefers small swords over the big ones that Cor uses, but he doesn't like using two weapons so daggers are a no-go, and what does Gladio thinks?

Before he knows, they're both running around the house, toy weapons in hands, and Gladio didn't have fun like this in a _ long _time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the delayed chapter, I got incredibly sick last week and didn't manage to write anything, sadly. But we're back on schedule!
> 
> The good part about being sick, though, is that I ended up marathoning dad!Cor fics, so we're apparently getting Prompto a bit early than I planned. Oops?
> 
> This chapter is mostly about Gladio, next one will probably be mostly Ignis, then Prompto, and THEN we're back to baby Noctis. Or maybe Ardyn. I don't quite know yet.
> 
> (And, yes, I am aware Gladio isn't five years older than Noctis. But the Chocobro's closeness in age, yet the obvious difference in responsibility levels always bothered me. So Gladio is five years older, and Ignis four. Prompto remains one year younger than Noctis, though.)


	4. ⅠⅤ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posted this a bit earlier because tomorrow is the last day of 2019 and I'll be busy all day, sadly.  
Happy New Year, everyone!!

"I know you could do better than this, sweetie."

Those are words young Ignis is more than used to, ever since he was too little to understand. He was told that about learning his colors, about counting to ten, about learning to read. He's fairly used to this, by now.

He was born the son of nobles and chosen as the Prince's advisor when he was four, two months after the Prince was born. Ever since then he was expected to excel at every discipline, ace all of his milestones.

On his sixth birthday, he visited the citadel for the first time, his mother by his side, trying to learn the interior of the place without looking rude.

Clarus Amicitia, Shield of the King and leader of the Crownsguard when the Marshall wasn't around, was waiting for them. He greeted his mother formally, greeted _ Ignis _ formally, before gesturing to the woman standing beside him.

"Lady Scientia, this is Lady Pyra Sollertia, King Regis' advisor. Pyra, this is Lady Lumina Scientia and Ignis Scientia, future advisor of Prince Noctis." He introduced them, and Ignis knew his mother well enough to know she was mildly upset at the introduction. Before she could voice whatever it was she thought to be the offense, Lady Sollertia extended one hand to greet him, a warm smile on her face, her eyes the warmest brown he'd ever seen.

* * *

Starting then, Ignis spends his mornings and evenings with Lady Sollertia. It was supposed to be just his mornings, he knows, but his mother is eager to have him doing something good for the family for once, and Lady Sollertia must see how much he likes the Citadel's halls more than his own house, so she manages that he meet his tutors on the Citadel's library and spends her mornings patiently explaining her job to him.

He knows that she is simplifying things and making it easier for him, but he can't be anything but grateful, because he _understands _what she tells him, instead of it all flying over his head like when his mother talks.

Ignis grows up on the Citadel halls, knows all servants by name because he is _immensely grateful _to all of them, takes it upon himself to decorate all the papers Lady Sollertia gives him and makes sure he follows all the rules all the time, because he'd _hate _if he broke one and he got arrested or worse, thrown back home.

* * *

Ignis is seven years old when he starts sleeping at the Citadel.

He didn't mean to, he really didn't, but, well. He got home around eight, when his mom asked him to write a summary of his day while she dined, and then said he'd have to do all of his homework before he got to dinner, and, well. By the time he was done with that, she was already asleep and the kitchen servants had been dismissed. Ignis was a tall kid for his age, but even _he _was smart enough to know that trying to cook alone was a bad idea.

So, he started getting home later and later, slowly enough that his mother wouldn't find it strange, until the day he slept in an armchair on the library, ate breakfast and dinner in the common room and sent his homework/daily summary to his home on the library's e-mail.

He manages to get away with it for three days before Sollertia calls him into her office first thing in the morning.

"Good morning, Ignis." She says, the guard who's supposed to drive him home seated on one of the chairs, looking far more like he's just about to be executed. A letter with his mother's handwriting sits on her table, and Ignis knows he's been caught.

* * *

Ignis expected to fired, or to be kicked back home, or arrested, or a thousand other things his mind tells him, driving his lungs tight and his head faint.

He didn't expect a neat room, right beside Pyra's, or for her to hug him while he sobbed out his apologies.

"Ignis. _ Ignis_. Look at me." She asked, after he'd calmed down and been assured he _was not in trouble_. "You're just seven years old, my darling. You may be future advisor to the Prince, but you're a _ kid_, and I had hoped you'd know that." She shakes her head, nudging the tray of cookies closer to him. 

Ignis thought that if it was anyone else, Pyra would probably be hugging him, but neither actually finds physical displays of affection necessary, and he knows _she knows _that the tea he makes her every evening is all that's needed, as he knows the jar of cookies she now keeps in her office is all the displays he needs.

"I should've known better, but it doesn't matter now." She tilts her head, warm brown eyes shining in a secret smile that her lips rarely showed. "From now on, you'll sleep at the Citadel in your own room, and report to my office by ten. We'll have breakfast, and attend to my morning duties. You'll have lunch at one in the evening, head to the library to see your tutors, and come see me in my office by six in the evening. Understand?" She asks, and he eagerly nods, because he _loves _having all his day planned out, knowing where he should go and when.

She smiles like she knows, and she _does_, she understands that he needs to have a clear idea about what will happen next, needs the rules and timetables to keep his brain on track and working.

Pyra messes his hair, tells him they'll go out tomorrow to get new clothes and things for his room - awake by seven, breakfast by eight, clothes-shopping until one, lunch, furniture-shopping until five and back to the Citadel, no tutors to worry about until his room is complete.

* * *

  
  


Pyra tells him, when he's eight, that being the King's advisor isn't simply keeping track of his schedule and advising his decisions.

The Lucis Caelum line keeps to tradition, and ever since King Somnus the King must have a Shield - a role taken my the Amicitia Family ever since the rule of The Tall - and an advisor, someone to guide the king not only in ruling, but also in his life. The King's advisor is always someone from a noble family, a few years older than the King himself, but not many.

"The King's advisor isn't a simple job, Ignis." Pyra says, a cup of tea on her hands, her legs tucked below herself as she curls herself into the armchair. "Being advisor to the King of Lucis means being his confidant, it means being the one the King can always, _ always _ trust." She says, her hands tight on her cup.

Ignis is young, but he is smart for his age, and he knows she is upset. Drautos was found dead, yesterday, unmasked as a spy. He knows they were close, Drautos and Pyra. They worked together often, and she liked what he did to the Kingsglaive, the chances he gave to the people of Lucis.

But now he is dead, shown to be a traitor, Cor vanished into the wild and the Kingsglaive is falling apart.

He is cautious, because he is _also _upset, none of this was supposed to happen, but he understands that he can't control everything. So he is cautious, reaching a hand out to touch Pyra's, his gaze firm and voice steady.

"I didn't talk to the Prince yet, but he took care of that servant, and he looks kind, and you like him, so I know I'll do my best to be the best advisor Prince Noctis has ever seen."

And, well, Ignis knows he's not as eloquent as he wants to be, that he can't get his brain to string sentences together as he'd like. But he _tries_, and Noctis looks oh-so-kind, like he'd let Ignis eat as many cookies as he wants even if he doesn't deserve it, and he _wants. _Wants to be good, wants to be kind, wants to do honor to what Pyra teaches him, wants the tender care and easy banter he spies between Pyra and the King.

He doesn't know if he can, if he will manage that, but Pyra smiles with her eyes at him, nudges another cookie closer, and he thinks he'll be okay, after all.

* * *

In the end, Prince Noctis is _far, far kinder _then Ignis thought.

"Sir Amicitia will bring his son in tomorrow," Pyra said, "and so you'll meet Prince Noctis today because Clarus is a stubborn, behemoth of a man and cannot keep to the plan." She huffs, the biggest expression of irritation he's ever seen her make, kneeling before him to fix his tie.

Ignis knows there was supposed to be a formal event, where both he and Noctis' new shield would be presented together to the Prince, so all of them could build their relationships together.

But Pyra leaves for an important conference in Altissa tomorrow, and the event was supposed to be next week, and being out of the timeframe makes both Ignis and Pyra moody, so she asked him if he wanted to meet the Prince first, _ if Clarus is in such hurry _, and because he learned the concept of being elegantly petty from his mother but learned how the extract swift and untraceable revenge from Pyra, he agrees.

And so they go, nine in the morning, marching to the garden where Noctis prefers to spend his mornings. Pyra announces their presence, and bows when King Regis looks up from his tablet to greet her. Ignis bows, and after the formalities are done and his stomach has stopped knotting itself up because _he is talking to the King! _ Ignis is gestured to where Prince Noctis is digging into a patch of black, rich soil.

Ignis approaches, swallows his nerves, and announces himself.

The Prince looks up, frowns at him a little bit, like he thinks he should know Ignis but doesn't, and Ignis doesn't know what to do _oh Astrals, how does he talk to the Prince, he's never spoken to anyone younger than himself ever! _

Prince Noctis hums, his gaze vaguely focused on something above Ignis shoulder, and offers up a handful of dirt.

"Help me find worms?"

Ignis is so taken aback his mouth moves without his consent.

"Worms?"

The Prince nods sagely, like somehow _worms _is a very important matter, and gestures Ignis closer so he can whisper something. Ignis, against his better judgment, kneels by the dirt and soil and leans in.

"If I find enough, maybe daddy will take me fishing again, and I _ love _ watching daddy fish."

And, well, Ignis doesn't share the sentiment, because he's never loved watching his parents do anything, but he guesses he likes watching Pyra sort papers into neat piles, so he nods and gets to work, because if the Prince wants worms, then by the Astrals, _ worms he shall have. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I accidentally made and OC far more meaningful than I meant to, oops  
Also accidentally made Ignis neurodivergent, somewhat, maybe, oops x2
> 
> Tell me what everyone thinks! Pyra shouldn't appear much more after this chapter, so no worries, I just HAD to give Ignis a good parental figure and Canon didn't provide any, so, yeah.
> 
> Also, Rose in the last chapter corrected me on Prompto's age, he's actually older than Noctis, so I guess Noctis is the babiest of babies. Thanks for the correction! If anyone finds any other mistake, don't be afraid to comment it down below!


	5. Ⅴ

Normally, Cor isn't _this _hot-headed.

Clarus would probably disagree, as would Weskham. Regis would look at him with that smile that said _yeah, sure, keep telling yourself that. _ Cid, bless him, would laugh and raise a drink, ready to go off with Cor, mostly to make fun of him while deceptively keeping an eye out.

That's why, as soon as Cor saw where he was heading, he swore up a storm and changed courses, driving away from the Niflheim Empire and booked it to Hammerhead.

* * *

"Y'know, that ain't gonna help ya none."

Cor would greatly appreciate it if Cid could keep his opinions to himself, but he knew the older man would come up with some kind of punishment if Cor said that, so he just grunted.

"Ah, I see, we're back to grunts 'an huffs." Cid said, hand on his hips like he was just discovered an interesting piece of information.

Cor would really like to know why he came here if he _knew _ Cid would be this obnoxious.

(He remembered, then, Glauca's armor on his friend's quarters, Drautos face contorted in a snarl of fury even after death, letters and letters of information drafted up and ready to be sent out.

He remembered, how back during the war, he was the youngest of their group. A street rat, just 15, fighting alongside the Prince and the others. Regis was 19, angry at the world and not really caring who he hurt in his warpath, much less about what one of his father's bodyguards would do. Clarus' duty was to Regis and no one else, and while he _cared_, Regis was his priority. Weskham was, well, Weskham. He was too noble for Cor to relate to, caring and willing to make food for the whole group, but Cor never felt comfortable doing small talk with him.

Cid, though, Cid was someone Cor could talk to. He was 25, already, and logically wouldn't want anything to do with a kid, but he took a shine to the ragged 15-year-old who could hit as hard as they could, took a shine to _ Cor_, and never stopped caring since.)

"C'mon, quit hackin' at that, my back's hurtin' from just lookin' at ya."

And really, did Cor have many options, when Cid got a hold of his collar and dragged him away from his wood-chopping, like he was some kind of unruly dog? Not really, not when Cid's daughter was calling for them from the house, young Cindy on her arms, and Cor could finally stop _thinking_, just for a bit.

* * *

"I'm telling you, they're planning something, and I'd rather not be on the way when it happens."

"Ah, shut your mouth, Jake! The fuckin' Empire is always planning something, if we stop to pay attention every time we're never doing any work!"

Cor listened, quiet, as the hunters argued over the fire. They weren't the only ones, arguing over how the new Magitek troops were becoming harder and harder to evade. The Empire was planning something, and Cor didn't like it one bit.

"Yer going?" Cid asked, leaning on the trailer by his side, eyes shaded by his hat, but no less sharp. Cor forgot, sometimes, that Cid wasn't just a mechanic, but also the best sharpshooter he'd ever seen.

"Can I allow myself the consequences of not going?" He asked instead because out of the five of them, Cid understood better than anyone the paranoia of doing whatever you could to prevent the disaster licking at the King's feet.

Cid sighed, because he knew Cor couldn't, because that's the exact reason he and Weskham moved away from the Citadel. They both wanted their lives away from the shadow of the crown, because as much as they loved Regis, they weren't the crowns dogs like Cor has always been.

And, Astrals damn him, if he's a dog, then he'd _better _be the best and most loyal hound, else he goes back to being the street mutt he was before joining the Crownsguard.

* * *

Cor is by no means picky, but he's _also _not Clarus' deranged wife, who _enjoys _spending her time knees deep in the mud and sleeping on the damp grass for the sake of _nature _or something.

So, by the second week in the wilderness, Cor is more than happy to reach a city.

Even if it's... Empty.

He walks around, cautious, but there's no signs of human presence, the place completely desert.

He sneaks into a house, surprised to find it still has furniture, and the miracle of miracles, _ running water_.

He tests the water with one of his poison kits, prays Regis won't realize it's missing, and finds the water safe enough, at least to bath in.

So he strips, takes the longest bath he can allow himself, washes all of his clothes while the sun is rising and puts them to dry on the midday sun.

He boils and filters his two bottles of water, because he's not desperate enough to alert Regis of his activities by tapping into the ones stored in the armiger, eats some sealed food he finds in the cabinets, and sits down to wonder.

_ Just what is the Astrals' name happened to provoke such a hasty evacuation? _

* * *

Cor would like to state that he did not sign up for this.

Invading the enemy lines and spying on the enemy? Sure, he'll do that. He's quick enough and good at hiding himself.

But, this? Invading an enemy base to find _human experiments_, and a _ kid no older than prince Noctis_? This, he didn't sign up for.

He ducks behind a wall, clutching his cargo closer to his chest, and swears.

He managed to infiltrate one of the main facilities in Niflheim, where the rumor mill of frightened citizens says the Magitek comes from.

He expected to find a factory, maybe some sort of electronic server. He _did not _expect to find thousands of pods with _teenagers, children, and fucking toddlers. _

So he focuses ahead, ignores the _subjects _and breaks into any and all labs and offices he can find. He swipes test tubes, papers and whole computers into the armiger, doesn't stop to look at what it is. He combs through most of the base before finding what looks to be a head office.

Cor had entered as silently as possible and started swiping files and test results before he turns around to take a look at a computer, only to end up face-first with a _ toddler _in a _ plastic cage._

The kid looks to be around Noctis' size, blond and pale, and slightly more skinny than he thought any toddler had any right to be. There's wires poking out of the kid's arm, some kind of equipment hooked around his spine that looks both dangerous and painful, metal ports embedded on the skin like the kid is nothing more than an animal. He scans and takes note of all that, rage building in his gut, but it's just when he spots the serial code of the kid's arm that it bubbles over.

Cor doesn't think. He's done being a good spy. He takes off the wires as carefully as he can, cleans away the few drops of red blood that sweeps out and bundles the kid up, cradles him to his chest like the just learned to do with Prince Noctis and takes off.

At the moment, he's still cradling the kid, one arm secure around him, his hand splayed on the kid's neck to keep track of his pulse.

Cor ducks down, sitting on the ground in a dirty alleyway, and looks at the little kid on his lap.

The kid blinks up at him, no sound coming from his mouth, but silently reaches one tiny hand up.

And.

Cor's heart breaks, because this kid is possibly Noctis' age and he's already way too skinny, his eyes shine daemon-red but he bleeds red blood, and his hand is tiny and warm is Cor's bigger one.

Cor was never good with kids, likes mentoring and looking out for the Kingsglaive but never spends much time around Noctis or Gladiolus. He'd never peg himself as a parental figure, hell, he barely knows how to take care of himself, but, well.

Cor has only had the kid for around two hours, but if anything happens to him, he'll bring the empire down to his feet, or die trying. And he's not willing to give up his moniker for them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm a bit late! Ao3 decided I couldn't post on my phone, so I had to wait till I got home.
> 
> So, hm. This chapter turned out to be 90% Cor and somehow only a little bit of Prompto, oops.
> 
> I thought about hurrying things along but felt that establishing Cor's character first would be more important than hurrying the plot, so here we go.
> 
> Next one will be a lot more of Prompto, and some of the HC's that I have for him, mainly concerning his biology and whatnot. Nothing angst, just... not 100% human, is all. I hope that's okay!
> 
> See y'all next week! I hope everyone had a great start in 2020!!


	6. ⅤⅠ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update date changing from Thursday to Wednesday. Sorry the delay!

"You did what?!"

Cor knew that would be the answer, and as much as he loved to hear Clarus lose his composure, he _didn't_ love getting yelled at.

"Look, can't you look at this from a positive perspective? I destroyed at least three military bases and sent over a lot of valuable information!" He whisper-yelled into the phone, quickly turning around to check if his... the kid... hadn't woken up with all that noise. Luckily, the kid was still sleeping, bundled up in Cor's jacket, tucked in between two pillows so he wouldn't roll away to the ground of the cheap inn they had stopped by. "Look, I know I should have contacted you before that, hell, should have called as soon as I had the idea, but..." He trailed off, the thought of Drautos still making his fists clench in impotent rage.

"You should." Clarus said, his voice was low and weary. Out of everyone, Clarus was probably the one that understood the best, what Cor was feeling. "Well, there's no use arguing over the phone. I'll talk to Regis, have him pull off whatever you dumped into the Armiger and send in some money. It's high past time we did an inventory of what's stored in there, anyway."

"Well, good luck with that." And that's something he definitely wanted to see, even if the clean-up was hellish. After King Mors died Regis took an almost unholy glee in storing everyday items into the Armiger, and encouraged Clarus, Cid, Weskham, and Cor to do the same. The last act of defiance against his father's strict rules, and one that was actively useful.

Of course, they had to teach the Kingsglaive how to use it responsibly, to store only necessities, because, in the end, the Armiger is accessible to anyone with the King's blessing, which means its practically communal storage.

Doesn't mean Regis will stop using it as a glorified purse, though.

"Ugh, don't start. I'll send enough money to get you into the border. Will the kid...?" Clarus trails off, not sure how to word his question, and Cor chuckles, looking back at where the kid is still sleeping, quiet as the grave.

"Doesn't look like he'll cause much trouble. I have no idea what they did to him, but doesn't sound like he can speak. Quieter than a plushie. Definitely better-behaved than Gladio."

"You wish." Cor hears Clarus scoff, because Gladio is his pride and joy, and doesn't matter if the kid's good behavior is closer to a Behemoth's calm than actual obedience. Cor figures that's just as well; between the two of them, Clarus is the guarding lion and Cor the feral dog.

* * *

"Oh, he's such a sweetheart!"

Cor almost jumps out of his seat at the voice, hands automatically half-reaching for his sword before the world around him registers.

They're on a train, the one that will take them out of the Empire proper and into Tenebrae. From there, Cor plans on sneaking his way to Cleigne, as quick as he can manage without leaving traces behind. Sadly, Cor didn't manage a stealthier way to leave Niflheim, so public train it is.

There's a woman in front of him, turning on her seat to smile at Cor - no, not a Cor, at the kid.

"You know, when my kids where that size, they'd never sit this quietly unless they were asleep." She comments, and sure enough, the kid is wide awake, staring at his little hands.

Cor wants to scream, maybe cry, but he just thanks the Astrals the kid isn't looking at the woman, deamon-red eyes trained down like Cor begged him to.

(Which means the kid understands him, means actual intelligence besides just copying human behavior like Cor half-thought was the only thing the kid would do, means an _actual kid_.

Cor has no interest in lies, much less lying to himself, and he knows he took a lab experiment, not a child. He may call him the kid in his head and to Clarus, may even address the kid like he would other children, but he knows it's not.

The kid tracks movement, nods if Cor nods and raises a hand if Cor does so. Those are baby behaviors, sure, but so are crying for food and flinching away from sudden contact, and the kid doesn't do any of that.

He eats what Cor gives him, drinks when Cor does and lets himself be handled into whatever position Cor wants.

And, well, with more time in his hands, when they're away from the Empire and somewhere safe, Cor will probably try to asses just how mentally grown the kid is, just how much of that behavior is natural and how much comes from being locked in a cage and treated like an object for astrals-know-how-long.

Now, however, Cor is a practical man, so he takes advantage and puts one arm around the kid, dragging him to his lap quickly, and is glad the kid doesn't react as normal children do.)

Cor shrugs, but he needs to look like a single dad and not a kidnapper, so he smiles and pets the kid's hair.

"Takes after me, is what his mother always says. I've always loved people-watching."

The woman laughs, kind, and peers at Cor for a bit before settling more comfortably, forearms on the back of the seat to watch them properly.

"Going to visit her, then?" She asks, curious and well-meaning, and Cor shrugs again, because he likes Clarus' wife, loved Cid's, and followed the Late Queen like a lost dog, but he never wanted any of that for himself.

"It's her week, so yeah. Thinking about finding a house in there, y'know, because of... Everything." He gestures with one hand, and tightens his grip on the kid. The woman looks sympathetic, thinks he's a divorced guy looking out for his son, so they start talking about the Empire, and politics, and all the information the citizens know that don't usually make into Lucis.

All through that, Cor keeps one arm around the kid, idly tracing patterns on the kid's back, silently hoping it'll get the kid used to common, kind, gentle human touch.

* * *

When they arrive in Tenebrae, Cor thinks the hardest part is over. They got out of the Empire proper, and even if Tenebrae is colonized by Niflheim for more than 200 years already, it remains fairly independent thanks to the Oracle's influence. Cor knows its territory, visited Queen Sylva more than once, and is confident in his chances of making it back to Lucis in good time.

He does not anticipate, however, that the kid may start acting up.

Cor didn't even realize it, in the beginning. He called Clarus to report they were out of Niflheim, bought as much stuff as he thought he'd need during his journey on a pretty well-stocked but small city - including a baby sling, because his arms were tired of carrying the kid all the time - and started walking.

The good thing about being off Niflheim was that they didn't need to travel in the cover of the night, anymore, didn't need to remain on desert areas and keep to the shadows.

That meant light, meant walking under the sun, and Cor didn't see the kid's daemon-red eyes turning ichor-black until the gnawing the kid picked up during the train ride - for which Cor had been tankful for, because any child-like behavior made him hopeful - turned into actual biting and suddenly Cor's hand was bleeding and the kid had fangs, what the fuck.

So, that's how Cor found himself at the moment: sitting on the ground, in the middle of a Tenebraen forest, watching with some kind of morbid fascination as the kid rolled around his blanket, teeth and claws and black eyes slowly calming down to his normal red.

(And, somewhere on the back of his mind, Cor was incredibly happy and awed, because the kid hadn't attacked him. He was obviously some sort of experiment to make daemons active during the day, a daemon in human skin, the literal wolf in sheep's clothing. But he didn't attack Cor.

He bit, sure, but as soon as Cor put him on the ground he rolled around and chewed through some bits of leather on Cor's jacket. It looked... almost like the kid was getting some kind of urge out, something he didn't want but needed to do.)

They spent the morning and most evening like that. Cor ate some rations, offered some bites of hardy meat and carrots to the kid, amusement coloring his face when the kid looked almost calm while chewing the carrot, like a dog with a well-loved bone.

Cor called Cid, this time, updated him on everything that happened, and they spent the evening talking, Cor relaying everything the kid was doing while Cid laughed at him, teasing Cor about how he was becoming a mother hen, much the younger's ire.

"Y'know, shoulda find a name for the poor thing. Ain't like you can just call 'im _the kid_ forever." Cid said, after Cor described how the kid was currently sniffing at a tree, far more curious and lively after his fit.

(Cor made sure to take note of that, that probably acting out on whatever daemon genes the kid had was freeing in a way most humans probably wouldn't understand, that the kid only showed interest in Cor now, after hours of being allowed to do whatever he wanted, _ now _ the kid actually paid attending to what Cor said, _ now _ he showed signs of being hungry and interacting with stimuli that weren't forced on him.)

"Yeah? Well, you got any ideas? Because I don't."

"Well." Cid said, rolling the idea around his head as Cor watched the kid shove his hand on the ground, his claws doing a good job of digging the rocks away first. "Ah think we shoulda ask the _true _artist of the house. _ Cindy, c'mere! _" And Cor could only snicker, because Cid was the only one who would ask his 10-year-old granddaughter about what to name a baby.

In the end, Cindy said she didn't know any good names, but that she saw a hunter with cool pistols yesterday and called them _quick _and _silver_, and she thought those were awesome names for pistols.

And because Cor _should not _be a father, Ramuh, Clarus was going to _murder him_, he rolled the names on his head for a little and decided that if Regis could name his child _ Night Light Sky, _ Cor could name his _ Quicksilver _and Clarus' sensitivities be damned.

He strapped the kid back in, when he was asleep, tired after some eight or nine hours of rolling and exploring around, and allowed himself one minute of weakness to kiss his kid - _ his kid, Prompto Argentum _ \- in the forehead before restarting on his way, eyes open for any dangers the night might offer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! This one turned a bit bigger than I expected, and somehow still doesn't have as much Prompto as I'd like, but oh well. Next one we're back at the Crown City to check on what chaos is happening.
> 
> I'm sorry for the delay, I started on my first job this week so I spent a lot of time preparing for that and had less time to write. As I'll have weekends and Wednesday off, I decided to change to updates to Wednesday, so I can revise in peace before posting.
> 
> The good news is, however, that I'll be teaching small kids, so hopefully, the boys will look a bit more realistic!
> 
> Hope to see everyone next week!


	7. ⅤⅠⅠ

Regis should _not _be laughing. This was _definitely _not a laughing matter. They were cleaning off the Armiger for Cor's investigation, _ this was serious_.

But the more Regis emptied the Armiger, more and more of Noctis' lost toys showed up because _his 4-year-old son had been using it. _

Never mind that Regis himself couldn't use it until he was seventeen, and that his father would have a conniption at seeing all the things his grandson had stored in there. Noctis kept making delighted noises at each toy that appeared, and Regis honestly could only hold his laughter off for so long.

Regis snickered behind his hand, hiding his sounds from the three kids currently seated on the ground of his living room. The room had been cleared of all furniture except one couch, pushed to the wall, so Regis could seat comfortably while he concentrated on emptying the Armiger. He started early in the morning, on the training courtyard, using the occasion as a weapon inspection for the Kingsglaive, currently under Clarus' leadership until Cor deigned to come back.

Clarus, gutted by Drautos' betrayal, took to the troops with single-minded determination. He expected to find more spies, or at least have his leadership be met with some degree of resistance; the 'Glaive was Drauto's project, after all, founded just five years prior from remains of the Royal Guard.

What he found instead was, surprisingly, a group of men and women who were dedicated to their job above all else, sword to the Crown and loyal to Insomnia. The oldest members, the remaining of the Royal Guard and a few of the Crownsguard that passed over when there was a need, were loyal to the King and outraged at their captain's betrayal.

The newest recruits, however...

Kids recruited from the street, from refugee camps and from outside the wall. Misfits, the lot of them, and Regis was mildly horrified that just from that he could _see _ Drautos' plans, and he did not like what it said about his own character.

The two boys from Galahd. The orphan mage. The boy from Lestallum. The other two from Duscae's borders. All of them, wary of the older members, loyal to no one besides maybe each other and maybe the hand that fed them. Until now, that hand had been Drautos.

If he managed to keep to the same path for longer, Regis could easily see a small army of trained soldiers - no, _ trained hounds _ \- ready to follow Drautos' commands at a whistle, no real thought given.

They remind him of Cor, the youngest on his father's guard, just 15, and his father sent him to war on orders to watch Regis, because King Mors believed on his hound's loyalty better than he did Regis, and the thought still hurts, years later.

Those boys from Galahd, Nyx and Libertus, they were no older than 16. Fresh out of a refugee camp, Regis betted, and Astrals, _ how had he been so blind? _

For now, Clarus had them contained. He dealt with Cor during the war, and knew how to deal with them. Careful, but not wary. A firm hand, and the constant reassurance that they weren't going to be dismissed for an error committed by their commander, that they were still valuable and need in the 'Glaive. That's all he and Regis could do, for now, bandage the sores and treat the bruises, but Regis would bet Cor had other plans.

(Cor's plans, indeed, were quite the opposite from Clarus'. Clarus and Regis were bleeding hearts, the both of them, but Cor knew better. He knew that to cure a wound you had to cut it open, let the tainted blood ran out, and stitch it back together with something far stronger than _respect _and _duty_.

Street dogs, the 'Glaive recruits were, and they knew it. They wouldn't follow easily, or smoothly, not after a betrayal like that. But Cor knew about that, about clinging to nothing but your next meal, about loyalty without respect and duty without honor and, by the Astrals, the Kingsglaive was going to be a pack of elite hunting dogs when he was done with them or his name wasn't Cor the Immortal.)

Regis frowned, thinking about just _what _he'd do with the mess Drautos had left behind when he was abruptly jarred out of his thoughts, yet again, by a high-pitched giggle.

He blinked out of his musings, focusing on the present once more, to see Noctis holding up a teddy bear to a dubious-looking Ignis, who had been almost inseparable from the prince ever since Pyra introduced them, a few days prior.

From his spot on the floor, Gladiolus muffled his laughter into his hand, pointing from the bear's adorably small glasses to Ignis' own, no words managing to come out.

Clarus, seated beside Regis, just shook his head, used by now to their children's antics. Ever since meeting Noctis, Gladiolus was very rarely seen anywhere but by Noctis' side or the training grounds.

His son had taken to his new shield and advisor like he'd known them forever, fast friends with both and visibly upset when left alone for too long. In the beginning, Regis worried the older boys would be upset by having to spend time with someone so much younger, but Ignis and Gladiolus seemed just as attached as his son was.

It brought up questions, because no child that age was supposed to be that comfortable with strangers, and Regis had been on high-alert about everything pertaining to his son's behavior ever since the ring spoke to him, and...

He was broken out of his musings yet again, blinking into the present to the feel of a small hand on his knee, and Regis mentally listed his drifting off into his long list of concerns, but immediately focused on his son, who was holding the teddy bear up to him.

"Daddy, see! Looks jus' like Iggy." He said, waving the teddy bear for Regis to see. He raised one eyebrow, carefully picking the bear up, and then looking over at Ignis, whose face was tinted red, looking off into the window like the subject didn't involve him _at all_. Gladiolus was wheezing faint laugh sounds from the ground, apparently finding the whole situation entirely too funny.

Regis looked back at the bear, sand-colored fur tucked into a neat formal shirt, a tie and tiny, black glasses. Some sort of secretary-bear, Regis guessed, and smiled at Noctis like his son had made a splendid connection.

"Well, will you look at that. It does resemble Ignis a great amount. Very well observed, Noctis." His son beamed up at him, and Regis loved that smiled, the proud puffing out of his chest. No matter what Clarus said, Regis stood by his decision to speak to Noctis like he would any other person. He remembered well how Aulea refused to baby-talk their son, and was decisive in following her footsteps.

"Is his, now, so Iggy can have company at when he sleeps cause then _ no monsters. _" His son said seriously, and Regis saw Ignis flush a darker red on the corner of his eyes. Gladiolus was wheezing so hard he almost wasn't breathing. Regis had an _idea_.

"Oh, is that right? A very good gift, if I say so myself, but isn't it unfair, my son?" Regis tilted his head, waiting for Noctis to frown curiously at him, before gesturing to Gladiolus. "Gladiolus has no bear to guard him from nightmares, so I think it would be only fair to find him a bear too." He ignored Clarus shaking beside him, obviously enjoying how his own son stopped laughing and looked at Regis with nothing but despair on his face.

Noctis gasped, turned around to gape at Gladiolus like he'd seen a ghost, and promptly drove back into the pile of toys, calling for Ignis to help him find a "gladdy-bear".

Regis shook his head in silent laughter and concentrated back on emptying the Armiger, determined not to drift off again, least Clarus stop being amused by their children and keyed into Regis' state.

By the way Pyra looked at him, he'd be having that conversation anyway, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow this turned out both shorter and longer than I expected. This is the first single-scene chapter I've written, and I blame all of it on Regis' poor attention spam.
> 
> I'm sorry, I meant for at least two more scenes to make their way into this chapter, but Regis somehow just keeps thinking about other stuff, so I had to cut it short :( Next one should have more plot, so worry not!
> 
> Also, what do you guys think of making this a series? I'm itching to write about Cor and the boys during the war, and also a lot of nonsense that doesn't involve the kids, so I thought I'd dump it all into another fic just for unrelated drabbles. Would anyone be interested?
> 
> Anyways, thanks for reading, and see y'all next week!


	8. ⅤⅠⅠⅠ

It's not like Noctis _knew _there was something wrong. He had the feeling, that he wasn't exactly normal, that he was... _ different_.

His daddy was always worried, when Noctis spoke about things, and he didn't understand _why_. Noctis didn't even talk about the ghosts, or the disappearing dogs, or of a lot of things he knew how to do but couldn't explain _how_. The blue people told him he shouldn't talk about it, and the nice lady who sang him to sleep explained that he'd understand when he was _older_.

All in all, Noctis was a bit annoyed at that, because he wanted to play with swords and camp outside as he did in his dreams.

But, well. He got a very uncomfy feeling in his belly when he thought about it, about bringing Iggy and Gladdy outside, about staying away from his daddy for too long. He couldn't explain, but he _knew _something bad would happen.

"You're very smart, aren't you?" Noctis startled out of his thoughts, looking up from his toys. There was a man leaning on the wall of the kitchen, red hair free of the usual ponytail Noctis usually saw him with. Noctis smiled up at the man, always happy to talk with his uncle, even if no one else could see him.

"I didn't do anything!" He declared, even if his high giggle definitely said otherwise.

His uncle shook his head, looked around the kitchen in search of whoever was watching Noctis at the moment - Miss Lyra, who was cooking something over at the stove - before walking over and kneeling down. 'Dyn, who was always a bit upset when Noctis couldn't say his name, peered at his toys before raising one eyebrow at the third one.

"Who, pray tell, are those beautiful teddy bears for?" Noctis rolled his eyes, because he _knew_, his uncle was smart and knew about everything Noctis did and couldn't say. Still, his daddy got upset when he ignored people, no matter if he was busy talking to one of the blue people or because he was lost in thought. So Noctis pointed at the sand-colored bear, dressed in a nice, white shirt with golden glasses perched on his nose. "That's for Iggy." He said, before pointing to the brown one, wearing a soft grey shirt and a small sword on his back. Noctis was proud of that, he'd spent a whole day working on a piece of clay to do it before asking a servant to cast it as the blacksmiths did on the shows Sir Clarus liked to watch. "And that's for Gladdy."

Ardyn inspected both bears carefully before putting them down and picking up the last one, eyebrow raised in a way Noctis learned that meant he was amused and impressed, but not willing to show it. Quite a bit like his daddy, if Noctis stopped to think about it.

"And this one?" He asked, putting the yellow bear with a black shirt back down. Noctis huffed.

"For Prom." He said, and promptly went back to playing, because as much as he liked his uncle, he was no fun to play with and Noctis was simply too hungry to concentrate on the adult words he knew but didn't always come forward.

He knew for who it was, anyway, and was just being a meanie.

Prom wasn't here, yet, but Noctis remember bright yellow hair, dark clothes and a warm smile, and that was all he needed. He could wait, anyway. He'd been waiting for years, already.

* * *

Noctis didn't normally _try _to be difficult, but sometimes it just sort of happened.

Some days, he wakes up and can't find any of the words he's used to, can't control his emotions and thoughts as well as he normally does, can't understand things he _knows, bone-deep in his soul, _ that he should already know.

So he cries, because everything is too big, and colorful, and new, and he can't understand anything.

Ignis, poor Ignis, almost had a panic attack himself. He was used to the Prince being well-behaved, if a bit lazy and quiet, and was _not _prepared to deal with a tantrum.

Gladiolus, who's used to the younger kids in his school doing the same, is invested in knowing how to deal with that ever since his mother explained to him that she'd like another child, because she liked kids and thought Gladiolus would be happy with a sibling. So he made it a personal mission to know how to deal with kids, because he didn't know when his mysterious sibling was coming, but he loved his mom and he really did like the idea of a younger sibling.

So he picks the Prince up, presses one hand to little Noctis' back and rocks him on his lap like he saw some of the servants doing, talks about his day and what they're going to do next as he does to Ignis when the Prince's Advisor works himself into a fit.

Some minutes pass before Noctis calms down, his head leaning on Gladious's shoulder, small hands still clenched on his clothes. Ignis, who'd been panicking in the beginning, is calmer as well; he made a cup of warm chocolate with cinnamon, ready for when Noctis is calm enough to drink it.

When enough time has passed that Ignis begins fidgeting, Gladiolus clumsily priest Noctis from him and sets the younger boy in the middle of them, right in front of the chocolate. He hopes it works, and by his side Ignis keeps a sharp eye on the Prince's reactions, because if this happens again, they need to know how to counter it.

And, well. Prince or not, weird, half-formed memories or not, Noctis is still a kid and, with a warm cup of chocolate, all to himself, outside of mealtimes in front of him? He barely remembers why he was so upset when he picks the glass up, and by the time he's done, he turns to Ignis with a beaming smile and milk mustache, cheerfully asking for more.

* * *

On the edges of the room, ceiling and wall and ground, well-armored warriors sit and watch, their weapons shining translucent blue like them.

Too much time, they spent in the crystal. Too much time, losing themselves to become one voice, to be one force, and what's it gained them? Luci's walls shrink by the day, no matter which universe. Ardyn and Somnu's dispute set off a blight not even the Astrals can get rid of, and day by day more of the people of Lucis suffer.

It can be fixed, certainly, and the Old Kings have seen that, watched Noctis walk tall and become the one True King, and they are _proud_.

But they're also weary, tired of fighting, tired of seeing their kingdom crumble, so when the King of Light joined them, infusing the Crystal with so much pure magic, when the True King purified Ardyn's blight and freed the world, they pleaded.

Pleaded to the Astrals, because none of them had ever held a pact with all of them as Noctis did, none of them had as much magic or as much _energy_.

_ He deserves a better ending, _ claimed the soft ones, the ones who didn't contribute to the Royal Arms but still ruled Lucis to the best of their abilities.

_ A boon, that's enough reward, for The King Of Light is also the Chosen One. _ Decreed the smart ones, the ones who ruled and _advanced _and pushed Lucis into the empire it was.

_ He has walked tall, is it not enough? He's done all you asked, he's cleaned your dirty work, the True King deserves a reward! _ The fierce ones shout, the statues represented on the wall, the ones who fought besides Astrals themselves and are far beyond fearing them at this state.

_ True King, he is, for he rules all with fairness and kindness. King of Light, he is named, for he brought the sun back to his people without asking for payment. Chosen One, we call him, for his soul burns brightest than any other's. He is Favored of the Gods, and he Walked Tall in our name, and he deserves a Boon. _

The voice silenced them, echoing in the crystal. They all knew each other, lived as one for so long any voice from the outside was immediately recognized. There was a cold to it, a serene stillness of a winter lake, and a disguised power like a snowstorm, and for that, the voice was recognized as Their Lady Shiva, who always favored the Oracle and Lucian Kings. They couldn't bow, inside the crystal, but the quietness of thought was gracefully accepted as such.

_ Titan acknowledges the King's strength, Leviathan his tenancy, Ifrit his cunning, Ramuh his wisdom and I his kindness. The King of Light fought for us, Talked to us, and Earned our respect. A Boon, he deserves more than any. _

And, well, the crystal didn't allow for physical manifestations, at least not for simple humans like the Old Kings, but Shiva was a goddess, and they had the impression of a smile and a head tilt.

_ Bahamut disagrees, but... He's easily entertained, and We are certainly more than one King of Luci deserves a redemption. _

They didn't know, at the time, what it meant. But now, watching as Ardyn inspected the Little King's chocolate drink, forcing Somnus to the back of the Crystal, like they always did when Ardyn was present, well.

They couldn't think of too much to complain about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we go! Oof, writing Noctis was. way harder than I thought?? He's a weird mix of adult-thinking and child-thinking. I hope it went okay!!
> 
> Also, saw a bit more of the "ghosts"! Hopefully, I'll get more into them in the future.
> 
> I DO HAVE A PLOT IN MIND, OKAY, IT'S NOT JUST FLUFFY. I just need them all together and a bit more mature for that.
> 
> Also, anyone has any scene requests? Thrown them in the comments or at [my tumblr](https://96kyirah.tumblr.com/)!If it doesn't fit in the next few chapters, I'll publish it on another fic, which will be part of this series.
> 
> Hope to see everyone next week!


	9. Ⅸ

“That’s him, then?” Regis asks, his head tilted at an angle, cautiously studying the toddler currently asleep on Cor’s chest. Cor would normally snap, or retort with some sarcasm, but he was simply too tired to manage much besides an annoyed sigh.

He’d just arrived at the Citadel, after months on the run with a gosh-darned _baby _and he was in no mood to humor Regis. He decided to move in the cover of the night, while Prompto was calm and sleepy, because no matter what Regis said, he doubted anyone would want to meet Prom while he was chewing on some animal’s bones.

(Except maybe Cid, who had given the kid the bones in the first place, curious and good-humored about it all. He’d wanted Cor and Prom to rest for at least a week before continuing to Insomnia, and in that time he’d been charmed by the toddler.

Just as well, since Prompto took to Cid and Cindy like a fish to water, and while Cor got his much-needed 12-hours-of-uninterrupted-sleep the kid rolled around the sand in the back of the garage, white skin unused to the sunlight dusting with freckles, daemon-red eyes almost dull enough to be called brown. Cid gave him bones to chew on, after it was clear most of his daemon tendencies made him look more like a hyperactive puppy than a snarling beast. Said it’d be good, to get all that energy off while eating something that’s good for his health.)

“No, that’s just some other kid I took off the street.” Cor grumbled, carefully prying Prompto off himself and into his bed. Because, thank the Astrals, Regis understood more of parenthood than what he liked to show, and the moment he saw Cor drag himself into the Citadel, grime and baby strap, he’d immediately said that Cor and _ the little one _ should go to sleep and Cor could do his briefing tomorrow morning, when they’d had the time to gather the scientists.

So here Cor was, on his assigned rooms in the Citadel because it was just simpler to sleep closer to his job than buy an apartment, carefully laying Prompto down on his bed before he, himself, could take a well-deserved bath and fall asleep the way he’d done for the past few months: back to the door, knife below his pillow and Prompto gently laid out in the space between his chest and curled legs.

“I’d certainly hope not, with how much Cid talked about him; I’d love to meet the child.” Regis just smiled at him, one eyebrow raised, and before Cor could respond, he just waved one hand at him, motioning Cor to the bathroom. “Go bath and eat something. I shall stay here to keep company to the little one. Do not worry.”

Cor wanted to protest, but that was Regis’ _ I-am-your-King-and-know-better _smile, so unless he was either Noctis or Clarus, he had no chance in hell to win the argument. He sighed.

“If he wakes up, don’t touch him. Say I’ll come back in a few minutes, and if he doesn’t go back to sleep, send someone to call me. Also, he likes to…”

Honestly, Cor was a bit amazed Regis listened to his incredibly long list of instructions before shooting him off. He supposed having a _ special _child himself, Regis knew better than most to heed the advice given.

* * *

It wasn’t like Cor was _afraid _of what the scientists would discover. He knew what - _ who _ \- Prompto was.

The problem was that the other _didn’t. _

And, look, Cor trusted Regis way more than he probably should, considering their history, but Regis was his king, and beyond that, he was _ Regis. _ He’d probably take Prompto for himself had Cor not been the one that found him.

But Clarus took the protection of the kingdom and of the royal family more seriously than Cor thought was health and Pyra was the type to check for threats three times before opening the door to her bedroom. Even if Regis out ruled them both, they had the council’s ears as Regis’ advisors, and _they _could out rule the King.

Cor didn’t think it would come to that, because he was a realist and not prone to lingering on bad outcomes before they arrived. But he was still _nervous. _

It didn’t help that Prompto had been gripping his hand the whole time, his eyes a bit tearful and anxious.

“It’ll be okay. They’re almost done.” He said, running one hand through the kid’s hair. Thankfully, they’d done the bare minimum of physical tests; a blood draw, reactivity to light, weight, height. They’d wanted to do a cognitive test, too, but after it became clear Prompto had no interest in talking, they backed off. There’d still be more tests, to see just _which_ _daemon_ blood Prompto had in him, but those could be done on the training grounds, away from the labs that made Prompto just as nervous as Cor.

(Which brought the question, _what did he remember_? Kids don’t have a good memory, but trauma can stick no matter age. Since Prompto hadn’t grown much in the months Cor had him - but had grown _some_, they were all assuming he wasn’t made in a tube the age he was, and was instead a normal kid who had _something_ done to him.)

Prompto nodded, a forced smile on his face, like he saw Cor do when he greeted the guards and civilians they saw on their trip. Cor smiled a little, a _ real _one this time, and poked a little at the kid’s shoulder.

“You sure you’re not hungry? I know I’d be starving after all that.” The kid made a confused face, scrunching up his nose in a mannerism that was all Cindy, before looking around again. He was clearly apprehensive about eating, had always been, if Cor remembered right.

It was a valid fear, if a sad one for a kid to have. Prompto ate something similar to double what a kid his age should, scarfing it down like he was afraid it would be taken from him. It had taken months for Cor to convince the kid that he didn’t need to swallow everything without chewing and some more time and Cid’s probing to teach Prompto that it was okay to ask for more.

Cor was also apprehensive about it, but not because he thought the kid ate a bit too much. His problem was, well. Prompto liked meat the best, either raw and bloody or overcooked and hard. He liked to gnaw on the charred stuff, teeth tearing it apart like a dog with a bone. Liked to lick the blood off the plate - loved it more after being taught he could dip bread into the blood and chew on that instead.

Prompto ate like a _ daemon_, raw meat of prey scarfed down during the hunt or over-cooked with magic fire, slowly chewed while hidden in a nest.

Cor and Cid tried their best to make him eat other food groups, now that he and Cor weren’t on the wilds and could afford to actually cook something, and Prompto had _just _ got the hang of bread and a few dried fruits when they left for the capital.

Cor sighed. Each day was a new headache, and Astrals, now he understood Regis’ headaches. He wouldn’t trade the kid for anything on the world, but he prayed things would get a bit less complicated soon.

“Hey, it okay if we take a break for lunch before continuing?” He asked to the nearest doctor, who was currently carefully looking at Prompto’s nails, doing his best to touch him just the bare minimum.

“Hm? Oh, yeah, sure.” He mumbled something else to himself, turning around to dig thought some paperwork. “You can go now, if you want. Just make a list of what he ate and how fast. We’d like to keep track of his metabolism.”

Cor grimaced and carefully picked Prompto up, letting the kid tangle his arms around Cor before hoisting him up.

“Sure, yeah. Two hours okay to go?” He asked, and Prompto didn’t need that much time to eat, but he wanted to give the kid a break. The doctor waved a hand at them, distracted with some reading or another, and Cor swiftly exited the room, ginning a Prompto’s cheered up face.

“Let's get some good beef for you, how about that? And some carrots, you can chew on them for some time, right?” Cpr asked, because goddamn it, he didn’t know how to talk to kids, so he defaulted to more-or-less explaining everything he did out loud to the kid, picking up Regi’s manner of talking to Prince Noctis like he was an adult already. He was glad, though, because Prompto nodded and shyly made a fist with one hand, mimicking the motion of swiping it down before gnawing, and Cor laughed. “Yeah, sure, and some bread too.”

And damn the Astrals, Cor never thought of himself as a father, but if this was how Clarus and Regis felt when their brats smiled at them, Cor understood all the sappy stuff he used to mock them for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, I'm posting this a tad earlier than I should because my notebook charger died on me so I'll be without a computer for a bit. I'm using my mother's PC right now, but I can't rely on that to write, so yeah. Hopefully I'll fix it in time to write & post next week's chapter, but be warned that there may be a delay!
> 
> In the end this turned out a little bigger than what I expected, but feral child Prom turned out to be very fun to write.
> 
> Next chapter will finally be the chocobros meet-up!! Hope everyone will like it!!
> 
> Also, I've finally posted the second installment of this series, [Glorious](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22564567) where I'll be posting unrelated one-shots and requests. Hope everyone likes that too!!
> 
> See y'all next week!


	10. Ⅹ

It's not that he hated the idea, far from it. Logically Ignis knew it would be good for Prince Noctis to have friends his age, and as much as he liked the Prince and had bonded with Gladio after a while, it was still… Hard, to make friends.

Sure, Ignis wasn’t antisocial or anything of the sort; he liked people, enjoyed being in the presence of others besides himself, but… He liked it better when it happened on his terms, was all.

This was anything but his terms. He didn’t even think this was the King’s terms.

“Noctis!” He practically hissed, helplessly trying to tug the prince away from the doorway without actually touching him. Behind him, Gladio just snorted, because he was just as much of a troublemaker as Noctis and Ignis had horrible, horrible friends.

“Shh, it’s okay Iggy. We’re exploring.” The prince said, waving one hand dismissively at Ignis, much to the advisor's outrage.

Gladio was, honestly, having a good time. Noctis had been impossible ever since the Marshal had come back, for reasons neither them or the King could pin down and spent his evenings away from tutors wandering the Citadel as if looking for something. One week into it Ignis asked Gladio for help, because Ignis and Noctis had tutoring together in the mornings and some evenings, but Gladio had classes during the morning and training with the ‘guard on the evening, but since his father and Cor were busy beating the ‘glaive into shape, Gladio’s evenings consisted mostly of him lunching with his mother and half-heartedly training for maybe half an hour before ditching it to either bother Ignis in the library, read by himself or go meet some friends from school.

Gladio rolled his eyes a bit but agreed to ditch his plans with his friends - or a good novel, not that Ignis needed to know - to watch Noctis while Ignis had to work on one extra class or other.

It wasn’t a chore exactly, because Gladio liked Noctis, he was a cute kid and had no problem engaging in some games that were maybe a bit too advanced for him. Gladio knew he was supposed to befriend the Prince mostly in principle, to make his future job easier, but he honestly didn’t mind looking after Noctis.

That is, until a week ago, when the Prince caught two servants gossiping about the Marshal’s new protege, some kid named Prompto, and went absolutely frenetic in his search.

Every second he and Ignis managed to get him to sit down and eat or study for more than one hour was a miracle. Noctis had even resorted to begging Regis to meet the new kid, and Gladio could see it wearing the King down.

So Gladio asked his father, who the new kid was, because even if the kid and Noctis didn’t get along after whatever playdate the King would put up - because Gladio betted it was going to happen, sooner or later - he wanted to know who it was, and prepare in advance. It is a Shield’s job to investigate threats, and Gladio knows his father tends to travel one day ahead of the King when they do, to asses the people and the place first.

His father approves of his motivation, and after a quick talk with Cor, he sits Gladio down to explain.

And well, look. Gladio didn’t actually think it would be something job-worth, though the kid was maybe bastard from some Kingsglaive member or some promising recruit. He did not expect a Niflheim rescuee the Marshall took off a lab. His father was suspicious, in the beginning, but after seeing Cor and the kid interact and talking a bit to the kid himself, he assured Gladio that it was okay, and that he didn’t need to worry about it.

That’s what led them to this situation, more or less: Noctis creeping along the Citadel’s corridors, Ignis worriedly following and Gladio following, honestly more amused than anything else at this point.

* * *

It wasn’t like Noctis remembered, no. He had no clear memories of before, but he knew there had been one, and that he, Iggy, Gladdy, and Prom had been together through it all.

It was like they were meant to be. Sure, his daddy and uncle Clarus seemed to be glued at the hip sometimes, and Cor regularly dragged uncle Clarus away from his daddy’s office when Gladdy’s mom asked him to. And daddy seemed to trust Cor a lot, because Cor babysat Noctis a whole lot when he was smaller. They seemed like a trio, but Noctis didn’t feel like they were meant to be.

Not like he, Iggy, Gladdy and Prom.

When Noctis heard that Cor had found a kid in Niflheim, he just _knew _it was Prom.

(Nevermind that Noctis didn’t actually remember what he looked like. He remembered cozy mornings snuggled under blankets, long nights watching the starts and playing, secret jokes about teachers and secret languages to gossip during class.

He trusted Iggy with everything, he did, he knew Iggy would do everything in his power to do what Noctis asked and would always be there when Noctis asked stupid questions, without judging. He trusted Gladdy with his life, and he knew Gladdy would die for him and that he could trust Gladdy to always have his back.

But Prom was, well. Prom was a guarantee that Noctis always had someone outside, someone who didn’t call him your majesty, someone who was equal to him. Prom was safe ina way the others weren’t. He could put it into words, and he was mildly relieved it didn’t feel like the weird world-block that sometimes took over him.)

Noctis was, currently, following one of the blue people as she crept along the Citadel, her horn-like helmet tilting funnily when she stopped to listen around doors. He ignored Iggy complaining behind him, because he could _feel_ this was _the day_.

The woman stopped at one door, close enough to the infirmary and training deck to be accessible but with enough distance that it wouldn’t be mistaken for an official room, and lightly knocked her star-shaped weapon on the wood, a dull thud that only Noctis could hear. He nodded, smiled gratefully as she turned and disappeared through a wall.

Noctis reached for the doorknob, ignoring Iggy’s hiss of his name to peer inside.

The room looked like a dormitory of some sort, a large room with two sofas pushed sideways into a wall, a table piled with paper and other knick-knacks between them with plenty of space in front of the door for a fluffy blanket to be laid on the ground. To the left, Noctis could see an open door that led into what looked like a bedroom and a closed one he supposed was the bathroom.

But Noctis wasn’t paying attention to it.

No, his eyes were glued on the figure in the middle of the blanket, blonde hair untamed and not-so-skinny frame warped in a blanket, reddish-purple eyes wide in surprise and little hands gripping crayons hard enough to break.

“PROM!” Noctis shouted, delight in his tone, and immediately hurled himself to his friends, any possibility that Prompto didn’t remember him far away from his mind.

Behind him, he heard Gladdy curse and Iggy hurry after him, but he collided into Prom’s side and held fast, feeling his friends breath sped up below him almost into a panicky pace before all of his muscles relaxed and Prom started _purring_, of all things, his face pressed to Noctis’ neck, a soft exhale hitting his skin as Prom curled against Noctis’ chest.

“H-Hi, Noct.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are! The Chocobros are finally all together!
> 
> Sorry for the kind-of cliffhanger, but I plan on writing from Prom's point of view next, and it didn't quite fit in this chapter.
> 
> Also, in two days it is Valentine's Day (in some countries, at least) so I thought I could write something for it, but I don't know what. Any requests for that??
> 
> (And, yes, Prom DOES remember Noct. It'll be explained better next chapter!)


	11. ⅩⅠ

He hadn’t been _expecting_ anything, was the thing. But its also not like he wasn’t _hoping_ for it, to be honest.

Ever since he opened his eyes - and it wasn’t that long ago, maybe seven, six months, definitely less than a year - he knew something was _wrong_. He didn’t know why. All the doctors that passed by his tube, and later on his cell, nodded approvingly and congratulated one another.

There were others, in the room. Identical little things, so he supposed he looked the same as all of them. They all floated in tubes, attached to the walls and filled with a blackish liquid. He couldn’t see much, for the liquid in his own tube murked his vision, but, well, he was test-tube-nine, and his was one of the clearer ones. He couldn’t see test-tube-one at all, the water so dense it almost didn’t look liquid.

The first thing he remembers is a jolt of pain, his heart beating faster and faster on his chest and his head aching like it was about to explode. The doctors rushed around him, muttering things about brain failure and too much adrenalin, but as soon as he opened his eyes and moved around, still dizzy with pain but not taken over by it, he noticed the doctors… cheering. Nodding approvingly if confused, excited smiles on their eyes.

They moved things around his tube, getting more and more excited as he followed it with his eyes. They took a bunch of readings from his tube, and when they moved to the two tubes beside him - tube-eight and tube-ten - he felt, inexplicably, sad.

He watched as they forced his neighbors through the same thing he suffered, whatever it was, something akin to a heart attack, by what he glanced at the monitors, but, well.

He was the only one that was moved to a cage, in the end.

Weird things like that happened often. He looked at something and, suddenly, he knew what it was. He didn’t know _how_, because the Doctor that attended to him never explained anything.

He soon learned not to show what he knew, though. He’d learned of consequences, in the cage. There, he was prodded and poked and pushed and pulled and he was _tired_ of it.

A feeling rose in his chest, those times, something his brain had no previous knowledge to inform him about, and he _snapped_ and he _bit_ and he _snarled._ He sunk teeth into fingers and claws into hands and _did not let go._

The more they poked, the bitier he got, and the more things he forgot the use for. The more of the black liquid they pumped into him the redder his vision got, and he lost any semblance of thought that wasn’t _bite claw chew eat_.

Some days, the Doctor that seemed to lead the others went away and didn’t come back for some time. The other doctors didn’t pump him full of black stuff without the Doctor nearby, and sometimes he was away for _days_. Those were the days he liked the best, because they fed him, took normal samples and left him be. He didn’t need to do anything that they ordered, as he did with the Doctor _or else_.

It was during one of those weeks that _He_ appeared.

He was dozing off, belly full of food, when the door opened and a stranger walked in, swiping files and vials and whole computers off tables, everything disappearing in a blue haze. He watched as the stranger stalked around the room, peering at every surface for barely a full second before swiping it away.

That is, before the stranger turns around and stares at him. The stranger freezes up, staring at him for what must be a full minute, before something in his eyes change and he approaches him, his steps sure and firm but oddly slow and cautious.

He has half a mind to snarl and bite when the stranger’s hand reaches for him, but that part of his brain that tells him what the doctors are doing, the part that’s halfway buried below daemon-instinct and red mist, seizes control of his muscles and freeze him up, a jumble of information and images and _recognition_ rendering him a massive headache. He curls up against the onslaught, eyes closed, and tries to breathe evenly.

When the manages to calm down, all that’s left from the episode is a name.

_Cor_, his mind says, and the impression of _authority, respect, shy fondness_ is firmly attached to it.

He looks up at the man, at _Cor_, the red mist still present but less so than in the labs, and reaches for his hand. Because there's warmth all around him, an arm snugly holding him up and eyes that look down and see _him_, not some numbers, not a task, and he didn’t know what he was hoping for, but he’s sure this is the best thing that has ever happened to him.

* * *

He spends a lot of time in that same position; pressed tightly against Cor’s chest, his heartbeat a constant he never knew he was looking for. Being out and about under the moonlight makes him drowsy, the lack of whatever the doctors fed him in the lab makes him light-headed, so he doesn’t move much.

Keeps his head down, like Cor showed him to, eats and drinks when food is offered because he doesn’t know any other way to eat, and keeps the constant _thum-thum-thum_ of Cor’s heart as his baseline, of time and of sound and of rhythm.

It’s not until they’re walking under the gentle rays of the sun, its weird warmth tickling his skin, that the red mist clouds over his vision and he can’t control his impulses for long.

He loses a bit of time, then. Remembers biting at something, and later chewing as something vaguely sweet filled his belly.

He comes back to himself halfway into digging a hole in the earth, damp dirt covering his hands and the smell of nature all around him. He looks around, the red mist almost not present, and sees Cor seated below a tree a few steps away.

He doesn't really know what he’s doing, but his belly is full and he’s tired and he wants back into the comfortable _thum-thum-thum_ of warmth, so he crawls closer - he _crawls_, there's enough space around him to do so! - and tugs on Cor’s pants, intent on being let up again like he’d been for the past week or so.

It doesn't even cross his mind, to be afraid, like he is of asking anything of the doctors. Cor bends down to pick him up, grinning, calls him _Prompto_ while asking if he’s done yet, and he feels vague warmth in the pit of his stomach.

_Prompto_. It sounds good, sounds like _him_, and he’s more than glad to sleep now, safe and secure.

Cor straps him in, one arm loosely around his back, and Prompto contently drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heya, everyone! I really hoped to write Prom's point of view up to his and Noctis' meeting, but sadly things have been crazy at work and I didn't manage to write it in time :( We'll have that next week, though! So worry not!
> 
> Also, as many of you pointed out last week, yes, Prom remembers Noct! I'm not sure if it was very well-visible in text, so I'll explain it here instead of doing a ghost-explanation like I half-wanted to do:
> 
> Noctis and Prompto were reincarnated by the Astrals. The original plan was to reincarnate all the chocobros, but not even the Astrals can just, y'know, vanish with a soul just to put other in, so they had to find a universe where Noctis and the others died as babies, to open space up for the reincarnated souls.
> 
> Noctis and the Queen died in the first chapter to an illness, and Prom died during some experiments. Sadly - or luckily? - Iggy and Gladio didn't have any accidents, so they didn't get reincarnated ;( I do have plans for that tho, but it's still in the future!
> 
> Also, I'm going back to edit the previous chapters and fix some stuff, so if you'd like to re-read this, nows a good time as any!


	12. ⅩⅠⅠ

Prompto doesn't actually _remember _things. Normally, he just has a _ feeling_. He thinks he remembered things better, while he was in the tube, but after he was moved to the cage and the doctors began injecting him with the black stuff he thinks most of it fade to background noise.

So, when they're on the big building Cor calls the "Citadel", he looks at what the scientists are doing and can't understand what they're doing, not as he did back on his tube. He has a feeling, something in his belly telling him to be careful, but nothing like the feeling of danger the old doctors gave him.

He keeps to himself, lets them do whatever they want and hums and nods when Cor asks questions, because he still can't manage to speak to other people, not even that nice girl back at the desert, Cindy.

He and Cor stay on the lab most of the day, and Prompto eats dried fruits and bread through most of it, because his belly tells him he shouldn't be eating meat close to them. It's almost midnight when they move back to the room they stayed before.

Cor takes them both to the bath, letting Prompto soak in the water for a bit while he washes himself, his mouth contorted on that amused smile he only ever wears for Prompto and the white-haired guy, Cid.

(And, if one stopped to think, Prompto shouldn't like the water. Daemons don't take baths unless they're aquatic in nature, and Prompto's like for charred meat would suggest some kind of fire-user.

But Prompto _loves _the water, likes the feeling of it all around him, like an embrace, no matter the temperature. It reminds him of his tube, of being submerged in a liquid that provided and cared for him, of times before the doctors started poking him and the red mist took over his vision.)

It's close to one in the morning when Cor puts them to bed, his back to the door, one hand on his weapon below the pillow and the other carefully resting on Prompto's back. Prompto scoots closer, needing that _thum-thum-thum _of Cor's heart to fall asleep, the feeling of warmth and softness that was completely absent in his cage.

* * *

In the morning, Cor wakes them up and grumbles for a good five minutes before getting up. He dresses Prompto up in comfortably loose clothes, gives him a few ration bars to chew while he organizes a bag, and takes them both to an open space Prompto hadn't seen before.

He feels like he should know what this place is, but as it stands he just feels the tension he gathers every time they step out of Cor's room dissipate, his arms lose and eyes attentive to every detail around them. He's still nervous, he doesn't think he's relaxed for a single minute outside the room, but he lets his body uncoil and his mind sharpen.

He feels ready to fight.

There are two people in the room, a man dressed in fancy black clothes and one in training ones. Prompto feels a shiver down his spine and tucks his face into Cor's neck. It feels like he knows the men, the same way he knew Cor, and yet _different_.

They talk for a while, Cor and the two men - Regis and Clarus, from what he heard. He tries his best to keep his heartbeat down, to calm the feelings stirring on his head, keep his attention on the _thum-thum-thum _of Cor's heart.

Prompto stirs out of his daze when Cor bends down to put him on the ground, his browns in a worried line. He pets Prompto's hair once, resting his hand on Prompto's nape.

"You doing okay, kid?" He nods, because most of the dizziness is gone, and he doesn't like worrying Cor. Cor nods back, and makes a weird hand gesture, pulling his sword from a blue flash, like he did the few times they encountered danger while on the road. "Remember when I trained with Cid?"

He nods again, because he remembers Cor training with Cid, sword against that weird, roaring machine. Cor smiles at him, gestures with one hand to the bench the man called Regis now sits on, and then to Prompto.

"Can you sit there while I train a bit with my friend?" he asks, his eyes guarded, and Prompto thinks that if it was someone else he'd be smiling to calm Prompto, but Cor isn't like that. He wouldn't ask if it wasn't safe, and Cor asks _so little _of him. Nothing like the doctors' endless demands or the scientists' instructions.

So Prompto nods, carefully raising himself on two feet and walks over to the bench. It's too tall for him to sit, and he doesn't really want to ask help from the man seated there, so he sits on the ground and curls up at the metal feet, ignoring the man seated as best as he can.

He watches as Cor and the other man train, sword against sword, the sound of metal against metal echoing the whole room. Soon enough they seem to fall into a well-know pattern, and Propmto loses himself to the rhythm, barely noticing when the man seated on the bench moves so he's seated beside Prompto on the ground. He barely feels the man watching him, and before Prompto realizes it, Cor and Clarus are bowing to each other, covered in sweat, and grinning at each other.

Cor walks over to them, looking exhausted and relaxed, and grins down at Prompto.

"Enjoyed the show, kid?" Prompto nods, raising his arms at Cor to be picked up, making a delighted sound on his way up. Cor laughs, easily settling Prompto on his hip. "Well, I'm glad you had fun. Its almost lunchtime, want to get a bite?"

And Propmto didn't even notice, but now that Cor mentioned it, his stomach growled loudly, and Prompto nodded in agreement. Cor snorted and sat himself down in front of the bench, reaching for his backpack before handing a piece of dried, fried meat to Propmto, who immediately started to chew.

He was so hungry, so comfortable in Cor's presence, he didn't even pay attention to the silent conversation the adults had above him.

* * *

It's been a few days since then, maybe a week. They settle comfortably on a routine, waking up early to watch the sunrise and eat breakfast - something Cor discovered Prompto enjoyed - before heading for the training grounds until lunch, then to Cor's new room/office, where Propmto now had enough space to run and hide and entertain himself while Cor worked.

The mornings in the training grounds weren't the _best_, per see, but the nicely-dressed man didn't appear again, and Cor had taken to carrying Prompto on his sling while he lectured the _glaives_, whatever that meant. In the beginning, it seemed that the _glaives _were reluctant to obey orders from someone carrying a baby, but after Cor had neatly defeated most of them while Prompto made cheering noises from his sling, they were more accepting.

(It also helped that once a _ glaive _tried to mess with his hair while Cor was doing some ice magic Propmto had reacted on instinct and bitten them hard enough to draw blood. Cor had been mad ai it, didn't let Prompto out of his sight for the next few days, but the recruits seemed to hold a wary sort of respect for them both after that.)

Slowly, as they got used to each other and the Citadel, Cor started leaving Prompto alone for short periods, trusting that Propmto wouldn't do much besides maybe chew away at one or two toys. Prompto didn't... _ dislike_ the alone time. He felt like he was used to it, to be alone. He didn't mind it, but he also didn't _like _it.

That's why, one day when he was alone in Cor's rooms - really, _ his _room, but Propmto felt less attached to the place then he did to people - and the door burst open, he looked up immediately, ready to greet Cor.

But it wasn't Cor on the doorway.

It was a boy who looked to be his age, black hair, and fair skin, dark blue eyes shining on the low-light of the room. Behind him stood two other figures, but Propmto didn't register them at all.

Memories flood his mind, years of lonely days made bright by a dark-clad figure, hours spent below covers and long minutes looking at stars, the feeling of _trust _and _companionship _and the impression of cold hands warming against his skin, quiet laugher pressed to his skin and rare smiles he'd gathered in precious pictures.

The boy, _ whatshisnamewhatshisname, _ screamed his name, _ Prom, Prom, a nickname, he had a nickname, _ before he felt small arms around himself, a face tucked into his neck, laugh-tears pressed into his skin, and Prompto.

Prompto relaxed, felt all the tension vanish from his body, like a missing piece he didn't know he needed finally slotted home. His body _purred_, content and safe and _home_, and he raised his arms to hug his friend, _ his best friend_, tucking his own face into Noctis' dark hair, inhaling the scent he missed so much, night-blooming-jasmine and grass just before it rained, sunlight on his skin just after waking up.

"H-Hi, Noct."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! We're finally done with Prompto's side of things! Next chapter will be the adult's perspective of it all, and maybe a time skip, I'm not sure yet. Maybe Luna's chapter? I'm not sure yet what I'll do with her.
> 
> I'm also working on a 'Glaive-focused chapter that should go up on "Glorious" sometime soon, so keep your eyes open for that!
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope everyone liked this one!


	13. ⅩⅠⅠⅠ

"So? What did you think?" Clarus asked, and had he not known Regis for most of his life he'd think he was ignored.

But his pen faltered on its tap-tap-tap rhythm, and his head tilted slightly to the side.

"It's... Interesting." Regis said at least, leaning forward to chew on the end of his pen for a moment before he blinked back into himself and moved away, frowning at the pen like it was responsible for the return of said bad habit.

Clarus sighed, eternally used to Regis' quirks, and made a note to ask the kitchens to bring over some appetizers. Regis was less liked to chew on his pens - or worse, chew his own lips raw - if he had some sort of food on hand.

"Definitely not normal, at least. I don't think I've seen anyone eat meat like that, nevermind a toddler."

Regis snorted, leaning back on his chair to look properly at Clarus.

"Yes, that is certainly... Unusual, for a child his size."

"You noticed anything else?" Because Clarus know Regis' tone, and he knows his King enjoys playing dumb, but Clarus isn't willing to let Regis play around now, not with this subject.

Regis nods, taps his pen on the paper a few more times before he starts writing.

“How long until Cor can make it here?”

* * *

“So, what you’re saying is that he’s, what, like Noctis? What is it you said, _favored of the gods_?”

Regis shakes his head, because it _is,_ at the same time it _isn’t._

“He watched most of your spar with Clarus, _paid attention_ to it. As far as I’m aware, no child that age has that attention span. Astrals, not even the ‘glaive recruits would pay attention to _two hours _sparring.”

“Yeah, well, that can be because he’s, you know, _half daemon_.”

And, don’t get Regis wrong, he values Cor’s input much more than his council thinks is deserved, but Cor’s instincts are _good_ and he normally has a level head on his shoulders.

But there are times like this, when all Regis wants to do is give the man a good shake to see if any sense comes loose because, _Astrals be damned_, Cor can be stubborn when he wants to.

“Yes, that can it. But I’m not willing to discard the possibility. Are you?”

(Because, for all that Cor acts tough and like he doesn’t care about whether or not the Astrals may approve of his actions, he’s the only one of their little troupe that knows the long versions of the Prayers to all of the Six. He’s the one that believed in the legend of Gilgamesh, the one that went looking besides not being a Shield himself. He’s the one that looked at the Citadel’s walls, at the Crystal, and _believed_ they were divine, even during the times Regis himself was hard-pressed to see it as anything more than a curse.

Cor’s the one of the few that _believes_ in the Astrals the same way the Oracle does, like he knows they are there, that they exist, and that they are far more likely to damn his existence than bless him with any sort of gift.)

“You’re afraid, and believe me, I wouldn’t want this burden on anyone. But if there’s anyone more suitable to care for a child as special as Prompto is, I don’t think I’ve ever met them.”

And the council can say whatever they want, can call Cor whatever names they see fit, but Regis saw Cor take a blade for his king for no other reason than _it was right_, saw how he looks at Propmto, fierce loyalty and unwavering love only someone’s whos been broken is capable to give. The council can say what they want, Regis would still put his life on Cor’s hand as easily as he would on Clarus’, and _know _it was safe there no matter what happened.

* * *

It’s not that Cor is jealous, because that would be stupid.

But he feels his heart squeeze itself in his chest, uncomfortably tight in his throat, and he doesn’t know how to name this sensation.

He left Propmto alone for maybe ten minutes while he ran by the ‘glaives barracks to pin the new training schedule on the common rooms. He fully expected to come back to Prompto still on the ground, painting or chewing on the crayons Pyra found for him.

Instead, he came back to Prince Noctis and Prompto tangled around each other, high giggles coming from both of them. Clarus’ son, like his father, was leaning on the door in imitation of his father’s guarding pose. Pyra’s ward was fretting around the giggling mass on the ground, nudging crayons and toys away in a weird circle around the Prince, likely to stop any of them from being crushed by the two toddlers.

Cor did his best _stern face, _because they had just invaded his room, but he couldn’t keep mad at the Prince’s pleading eyes for long. It didn’t help that Propmto took to Noctis quicker then he did to Cind, clinging and looking up at Cor with anxious and innocent eyes.

That’s how he ended up chaperoning the kid’s excursion to the gardens, Noctis, Gladio and Prompto happily digging themselves into piles of dirt while playing some sort of pirate tag while Ignis took it into himself to procure appropriate snacks for all of them.

Prompto and Noctis hadn’t let go of each other’s hands for more than one minute during the whole time.

Cor watched, a weight on his chest, as Prompto - _his kid_ \- held hands with the Prince, giggling and running from Gladio, steps coordinated and acting like a single unit in a battlefield.

He should be happy, because so far Propmto acted very little on his daemon urges, and that meant there was hope that his kid could, one day, live free of whatever the Nifs had done to him.

(But they didn’t disappear, that he was sure. He watches as Propmto sniffs at Noctis hair, as he playfully growls when Gladio tags them, as he tugs Noctis by the hand into a crouch to stalk Gladio like the boy was prey, as he turns his head to outside noises like a wild animal on the lookout for danger.

Gladio, years older and already training with his father, who shows promise of being a better shield then even Clarus is, sees it and is wary. Cor sees it on the way he tags Noctis, always, skirting around Prompto’s range when he needs to walk closer. Sees how the older boy keeps a careful eye on the hold the kids have on each other.

Cor feels inexplicably proud when Gladio looks to _him_ for guidance, and just smiles and shakes his head. Prompto is behaving better than he expected, and Noctis is far more forceful with his tugging than Prompto, so Cor doesn’t worry much.)

It is just later, when Pyra hunted Noctis and Ignis back into their lessons and Gladio sneaked away to the library, after a bath and dinner and a good hour for Propmto to calm down, that Cor decided to ask.

“Did you like spending the evening with Prince Noctis?” He asked, carefully pulling a sleeping shirt over Prompto’s head. The kid nodded, yawing, too-sharp-teeth adorably peeking out. Cor hummed. “You two seemed to get along well.” All he got for his troubles was a thumbs-up, which Cor took to mean that Prompto though Noctis was nice.

Cor sighed, a tired smile on his face. He knew Prompto didn’t speak, and it was a little too much to expect a four-year-old to react as he expected to an interrogation. So he ruffled the kid’s hair, turned the light off and tugged Prompto closer to him, into their normal sleeping position.

Cor was almost drifting off, one hand on Prompto’s back to feel his breathing, when the kid shifted closer.

“Night night, ‘or.”

Cor was awake in an instant, staring at his kid’s head, _his son’s head,_ Prompto’s first words to him a loop on his head. A grin broke through, and he curled around the kid, a gentle hug around the sleeping toddler.

“Goodnight, kid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Today's chapter was a bit shorter than what I hoped for, but hopefully everyone likes it.
> 
> Now, a question for everyone, do you prefer I post Luna's chapter here, before the timeskip, or over at the side stories? Since there will be no Noctis in there, I'm not quite sure where to post it.
> 
> Thanks everyone for reading!


	14. ⅩⅠⅤ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief description of what may be considered dysphoria right in the beginning of the chapter. Nothing explicit, and it's very quick, but I thought it'd be better to make a warning.

Sometimes Noctis thinks it’s all a dream.

Sometimes, he wakes up and feels disconnected from his body, too-small limbs and too much on his head. He sees how the castle servants react to him, how his new tutors react to his answers, how the Crownsguard and the Kingsglaive side-eye him.

Today, he wakes up, smiles as his dad wishes him a _happy birthday_, still too sleepy and _wrongthisisnothisbodythisiswrong_ to do more than follow along with the motions of a servant dressing him up, of his dad’s hand on his back to guide him into the dining room.

Sometimes, he spends all day in that haze, in knowing-too-much and not-his-body and this-is-wrong, spends hours staring through windows at parts of the city he knew to be destroyed but are somehow intact, spends minutes looking at guards and servants and feeling a deep sense of mourning for someone who’s actually alive.

Sometimes, like today, he walks into the dining room to eat, sees Prompto already at the table, arguing with Ignis about how much meat he can put on a plate before it is considered lunch instead of breakfast, sees Cor munching on something Prompto made him, and the knot on his chest defuses, the weight on his shoulders lifts, and by the time he seats at the table, he feels _settled_ on his skin, like he _belongs_ in his body.

“Your Highness!” Ignis exclaims as soon as he sees him, quickly scrambling out of his seat to greet him, and Noctis can’t help the smile that overtakes his face, ignoring Igni’s bow with the easy of practice to pull his friend in a hug, a _hi Iggy!_ leaving his mouth before he even has to think about it.

Ignis falters, for a moment, before he practically deflates into the contact, carefully hugging Noctis back, his glasses askew as the taller boy touches his face to Noctis’ hair, _warmwarmwarm._

“Happy birthday, Noct.” Ignis murmurs, just for the two of them, soft and warm and _theirs_. Noctis sighs, settled and happy and home, is about to murmur something back when a weight clashes against his back, almost making him and Ignis fall if the older boy wasn’t so much _taller_, and Noctis would be offended or alarmed, but he recognizes that height, the soft hair at his nape, the high pitched giggles barely hidden on his shoulder.

He is laughing before he turns around, a high, happy greeting on his lips as he crushes into Prom, both laughing with unnamed euphoria as neither can keep their knees up so they both go to the ground, cries of _happy birthday_ echoing between them as they end up rolling around the carpet, hugging-turned-into-wrestling.

There’s a glint in Prompto’s eyes that say _I saw you when you entered_, and _today’s one of those days, right?_ and Noctis loves Ignis, loves Gladio, loves his dad and Cor and Clarus and all the others. But ever since Prom got to the Citadel, three years ago, Noctis feels more comfortable than he can remember.

They’ve talked about it, a little, hiding below the covers while Ignis and Gladio pretended to sleep to talk long into the night. None of them had any actual _memories_, was the thing. They knew things others didn’t, and agree on certain points, and had the same feelings about some people, but they didn’t actually _remember_.

(On days Noctis allowed himself to _think_, to _worry_, he found some of those points very worrying indeed. They both had _very strong opinions_ about Noctis leaving Insomnia that just got stronger the older Noctis got. Noctis had a strange feeling _something_ would happen, but he wasn’t sure what. His knee ached every time he thought about it, too.

They also had strong opinions about the Empire, but they weren’t sure this was a _them_ thing, or a _Luci_ thing.)

Gentiana, who sometimes sang Noctis and Prompto both to sleep, gently explained that it was normal, it was a gift, but it was uncle Ardyn who explained to them.

Noctis remembers his uncle as nothing but a kind, if infuriating man. Ardyn has been present ever since Noctis can remember, a constant and reassuring presence who seemed to read into Noctis’ mind, someone who, despite pretending otherwise, cared very deeply.

Ardyn told them, told _him_, that it wasn’t always the case. He explained, in as few words as he could manage, that in some other world, he’d been a very angry man, and a very bad person. He said that _Noctis_ helped him, that by saving Ardyn Noctis somehow pleased the Astrals, and they were given _another chance_.

He never answered just _what_ that chance was for, _what_ was Noctis supposed to do right this time. He just smiled, said he was taking care of it, and that he and Prompto should stop being paranoid and have fun.

(They had fun, but didn’t quite manage to stop worrying about things they didn’t understand. Noctis still felt his knee ache, Prom still got anxious when diplomats visited, and both wished Gladio and Iggy _understood_.)

They tried, most days. They played, and trained with Gladio, and hang out with the ‘glaives, and had play-fights in the dining room loud enough that the servants poked their heads in to see what was happening.

“You two have too much energy. _It's too early_.” Said a voice by the door, and both Noctis and Prompto immediately stopped wrestling, turning in unison to see Gladio moodily walking in.

“Gladdy! Hi!” “It’s a _birthday fight_!!” They exclaimed at the same time, much to the room’s amusement.

Noctis looked around to see his father and Cor bend over a file, absently picking at a bagel Ignis handed them. While Noctis and Prompto were distracted, Ignis had made a plate for them both, full of their favorite foods. No cake yet, but if the last three years taught them anything, it was that cake wasn’t, sadly, breakfast food for Ignis, and therefor banned until lunch.

They’d have cake then, Noctis was sure, and lots of food. A small party, for royalty, but bigger than what Noctis had in his first four years of life: ever since he decided to celebrate Prompto’s birthday alongside his own, thanks to no one quite knowing when he was born, his - now _theirs_ \- birthday was celebrated with him, his dad, Prom and Cor, Ignis and Pyra, Clarus, Gladio and sometimes Miss Ari, plus some selected ‘glaive members, who dubbed themselves the _royal babyproofing squad_.

(It was, actually, just Nyx, Libertus and Crowe, the youngest ‘glaive members, who somehow ended up almost adopted by Cor, and therefore got used to Prompto. By consequence, they got used to Noctis, and resigned themselves to swapping actual training to warp&armiger training, because _someone_ had to keep up with the prince and what he decided to hide in the armiger for prank-value.)

So, yes, no cake during breakfast, but lunch wasn’t long-coming, and Noctis knew he and his dad would celebrate by themselves at night, one of the few nights the King actually tried to _bake_, in memory of the Queen, who used to celebrate her own birthday in Regis’ quiet company, a bottle of wine and homemade cake all resting between them.

(Noctis knew that Prompto also had his own little party, that he and Cor escaped to just outside the city limits to watch the starts and camp together, in celebration of the first months they spent together.)

No cake, but Gladio knelt down by their side, his back to Ignis, and presented them both with _cupcakes_, prompting both to hug their friend fiercely, and because Ignis knew them, the reaction was suspect, and the argument that followed was loud enough to have a servant poking their head in, concerned about what trouble had the royal family started _now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! So, here it is, the time skip I've talked about before. I skipped just three years, putting us right before when I imagine Noctis had his accident. It's not going to happen, poor Noct still has phantom pains, but! They meet someone special after that, and I thought to keep it in.
> 
> Hopefully everyone likes it! Thanks for reading!!


End file.
